The Homeless Millionaire - Volume 1 Chapter 95 November 10th 1972 Morning

The Noyce gang were late leaving the house on Friday morning, which made me very determined to find a new place to live very soon. I needed to hit the can badly, but I didn’t want to deal with any of them. When they were finally gone, I was down the stairs like a f.u.c.k.i.n.g greased lightning.

I took the newspaper along, and while I sat on the toilet I looked through the rental ads. There weren’t that many, and just a single place sounded good. However, the ad stated it was located in North Vancouver, which would make the work commute a pain in the ass. I promised myself to buy the Sunday paper, and spend Sunday looking for something within walking distance of Robinson & Klein.

I wasn’t very hungry and my breakfast was over in a couple of minutes. While I was smoking my post-meal cigarette, I had the thought that maybe I could rent a room long-term with Richard and Nancy. From what I’d seen, their guesthouse had few guests: in fact, I was the only guest on my first night there. This reminded me that I should get in touch with Harry, and find out what that corporal Evans business was about. On my way down to the phone, I felt slightly guilty because I still hadn’t actually asked Birgit whether I could use it for local calls.

I had to wait for a long time before Harry’s mother answered the phone. Then I had to wait even longer while she went off looking for Harry. She returned to inform me Harry would be with me in a minute. He took three.

“Jesus, but you’ve got rotten timing,” he said by way of greeting when he finally got to the phone. “This is the second time you call while I’m in the can. But it’s good that you called. Really. I’ve been looking for you, I even called Richard. We’ve got to meet.”

“Uh… Sure,” I said. I was thrown off balance by the urgency in his voice. I asked:

“Has something happened?”

“Yeah, something did. Where are you now?”

I told him and he said he’d see me in the Park pub in an hour. We hung up and I opened the front door and looked at the weather and thought that it might be better if I went there right away: it wasn’t raining, but it looked as if it would, soon.

But it was only half past nine, and I didn’t fancy standing in front of the pub waiting for it to open. So I killed some time tidying up my ‘studio’, I even washed my ashtray in the bathroom and made my bed as smartly as if an inspection was due. On my way out I dumped the plastic bag with my trash in the Noyce trash can, which had been brought out to the pavement. There was a big empty bottle in that trash can, a bottle that had contained Johnnie Walker Red. For a brief moment I thought I was going crazy, because just prior to leaving I’d glanced at that bottle in my room, and it had been half full.

The Noyces drank the same booze I did! For some reason, this felt like a shocking discovery. I’d worked it out by the time I got to the pub: I’d thought we had nothing in common, in fact I’d come to dislike both of them even though I hadn’t even met Birgit’s husband. It irked me that they liked the same booze.

I arrived at the pub with perfect timing – I saw the guy open the place up from down the street. I was his first customer and I thought there was disapproval in his manner when he poured me a Toby. I took it to a table with a view of the street, and a couple of cigarettes later I saw Harry’s Volkswagen pull in and Harry emerged.

He walked fast, so intent on entering the pub that he didn’t notice me waving behind the window. He came in and nodded at me and went up to the bar and got himself an Irish coffee. I had been nursing my beer, still had half of it left, so I stayed seated and waited for him to join me and offered him a cigarette when he did. He took it and lit up and said:

“So how are you getting on? You like your new place?”

“No,” I said. “I’m going to look for something else. Problem is, I found a job nearby. Listen, Harry, do you think I could stay at the guesthouse, with Richard and Nancy? Would they give me a weekly or maybe even a monthly rate?”

He shook his head. He turned and looked at the barman and the barman looked back at him, and then went to the far end of the bar and switched on the radio. Harry gave him a grateful nod and turned back to me.

“Forget about all that,” he said. “Listen: I called that Mountie who left his card at the cottage. It turned out it was about an insurance claim for the boat you set adrift. Remember? The cruiser that belonged to the guys who tried to steal my pot? It was found on the shore further up the bay in pretty poor shape. It ran onto some rocks. Corporal Evans was put in charge. He got contacted by a guy from the company that insured the cruiser who told him the boat had been maliciously cast adrift by whoever lived in my cottage. So the cops needed me to come down to the station to make and sign a formal statement that I had no f.u.c.k.i.n.g idea of the whole thing.”

“That was it? Insurance for the boat? No mention of the gun?”

“No. That whole thing is over. I put it to bed. Corporal Evans is a cool guy. However, there is something else. I had to hang around a bit while he got everything typed out and ready to sign. They had this Missing poster on the wall, you know, mugshots of various people that had been reported as missing. Your mug was third from left, second row.”

“What!?”

“You’re officially a missing person, pal. The cops are looking for you.”

“Oh Jesus,” I said.

“Yeah.”

I reached for my beer and finished it off in one go while Harry pretended to enjoy his Irish coffee and cigarette. I lit a fresh one, and said:

“I’ve no f.u.c.k.i.n.g idea what to do.”

“Maybe you have an idea why you’re on that poster,” Harry said.

“Yes. I think it’s my parents. I wrote them a couple of letters, but I guess they ran to the cops before they got them.”

“That’s not so bad then. Your parents get your letters, tell the cops you’ve been found, end of story. But those posters are changed at the beginning of the month. You’ll be up there for a while. I’d keep a low profile if I were you. You know. Because of the other thing.”

The ‘other thing’ he was referring to was my killing Peter Schmidt.

“Oh f.u.c.k,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Harry, and we were both silent for a while. Then Harry said:

“So, what are you going to do?”

I had to take a couple of deep breaths before I could answer.

“I’m going to call my parents,” I told him.

“Sounds like a good idea. In fact, it’s so good you better do it right away. There’s a payphone by the entrance. You got enough change?”

“I’ll get some,” I said and got up and told the barman I had to make a long-distance call and changed a couple of bucks into coins. I felt as if I was watching myself in a movie, doing things I didn’t want to do and powerless to change anything, condemned to following the script. I really wanted a double scotch before that call, but it felt like cheap theatrics. So I took it on the chin and took my coins and went to the phone.

My paranoid pal showed up just as I was reaching for the receiver. I gave him shit while I fed coins in the slot and dialed the number. Why hadn’t he warned me? But of course he said he had done so, but I didn’t listen.

The phone rang and rang while I played with an unlit cigarette and I was beginning to hope no one was home when Josh answered.

“Hello, Josh,” I said, and relished the stunned silence. But like all the good things in life, it didn’t last long.

“You’re such a f.u.c.k.i.n.g asshole,” he said, and dropped the receiver hard enough to make me wince. I could hear him yelling I was on the phone as he walked away.

I guessed my father would be the one to handle this: he was home on Fridays, I guess as compensation for all those stints abroad when he often had to work around the clock. I was right.

“Hello, Michael,” he said in a perfectly level voice. He was good at this kind of thing; he was a professional diplomat.

“Did you get my letter?” I said right away. He cleared his throat for no good reason at all and said:

“Actually, we received two.”

“I wrote you what was going on and what I was up to. I also wrote you I’ll call, so I’m calling. Everything’s just fine with me. Hopefully everything’s fine with you too, in spite of all the excitement. Yes? Am I correct?”

He cleared his throat again, just to buy a little time. Then he said:

“You sound odd, Michael. You sound different. Are you sure everything’s all right with you?”

“Of course I sound different,” I said. “You’d sound different too if you found out your face was on display in police stations all over the f.u.c.k.i.n.g country.”

“Michael! Language, please.”

“There are two ways to do this,” I said. “One, you call the cops and tell them I’ve been found safe and sound. Two, I call the cops and tell them I’m safe and sound, and that I’ve written you to that effect some time ago. The first way is better. They won’t resent you for raising a false alarm.”

“It wasn’t a false alarm! You disappeared off the face of the earth! Even your best friend didn’t know where you’d gone. I had to call the doctor for your mother! She was literally worried sick.”

“But you weren’t,” I broke in, knowing that if I didn’t interrupt him, he’d get in stride and demolish me like he always did when allowed to speak at length.

“Of course I was! I was extremely worried.”

“Well, you can all stop worrying now. Everything’s fine. I’ve got a contract with an art gallery and a full time job as well. In a real estate office. I just hope those guys don’t happen to visit a police station in the near future, because I’ll be out of that job the moment they come back.”

“You’ve got a job?” he repeated weakly. It probably was the last thing he expected to hear.

“Yes. And I’ve got to get back to the office now. I didn’t want to call from there.”

“Office?”

“I told you I’m working in a real estate office. As a clerk.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“Not long, obviously. Dad, I’ve really got to get back to my desk. Fridays and Saturdays are extra busy.”

“Wait a moment. Is this why you gave up your studies? You wanted to study at that school in Montreal more than anything else. You spent a year working and saving up money to go there. You said – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But things can change very suddenly sometimes. You know that, right? You told me that whevever I was bitching about us moving yet again. Anyway, what happened was, I ran into a guy who said he wanted to show my work in Vancouver and I had to move fast, he was also looking at other guys.”

“Your work is on show in Vancouver?”

I got him off balance, but I was afraid he’d regain it and begin to really give it to me, so I said:

“I’ve really got to go. I like this job and I don’t want to lose it. Will you call the cops today and tell them I’m not missing any longer?”

“Yes, of course. I -”

“Dad, I really have to go. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye.”

And I hung up. I leaned on the wall beside the phone and lit that cigarette and my hands were shaking so badly I nearly burnt myself. I told myself that it was over, and that I’d scored a victory. I smoked by the phone for a while and gradually calmed down and went to rejoin Harry. When I sat down, he said:

“You look a little shaken.”

“It wasn’t a pleasant conversation.”

“Yeah. I can imagine. Everything fixed?”

“More or less.”

“Good. Listen, I gotta split. Have a ton of things to do today.”

“Thanks for finding the time for me,” I said.

“No prob. Remember what I told you: those posters are going to stay up for a while. Keep your head low, and your nose clean.”

“Yeah. Harry?”

“What?”

“Any chance of getting some smoke over the next couple of weeks? Maybe end of the month?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

He went away leaving me slightly uneasy, because he’d used the phrase I’d used on my father. I regretted asking him about the pot he’d promised me. I wasn’t desperate, I still had nearly a quarter left in my wonderful studio.

It seemed like this wasn’t the best time to look for a new place. What if I ran into someone who had seen that Missing poster? I looked out of the window and saw that it had started raining.

“Oh shit,” I said.

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